No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,28

kids,” she announced loudly, beckoning toward Lucas Brand’s precious, nice-smelling house. “We have to get out of these clothes and get de-skunked.” Heading across the lawn, she muttered, “It’s time to inform Mr. Niceguy he’s about to have some very ripe company.”

6

Jess tramped through the kitchen, where several teenagers huddled, sniveling and grumbling. Members of the Brand staff peered out from around corners, their noses pinched tightly to stave off the foul odor.

Maxim hurried to catch up as Jess trekked across the carpeted grand room. The butler hid his nose behind a white handkerchief. “Perhaps I should announce you, Mrs. Glen,” he suggested through the linen as he rushed to catch up with her enraged pace.

“I don’t imagine I’ll need to be announced, Maxim,” she called back. “He’ll detect me soon enough. Where is he?” She paused long enough in the middle of the great room to glance back over her shoulder. Maxim cast a worried look toward the entrance hall.

“That way?” she asked, heading for it.

“Yes ma’am,” he rasped, pursuing her like a protective mother hen determined to defend her chick. “I really should tell him—”

“Oh, please,” she cut in. “Let me surprise him.” She ran a hand, quivering with fury, through her reeking hair. “You said he wasn’t so bad, Maxim. Let’s find out, shall we?”

The butler’s forehead creased with uncertainty but after a few seconds, he indicated the direction with a reluctant nod. “At the head of the hall,” he told her gloomily, “instead of turning right into the foyer toward the main entrance, you turn left. There’s a circular staircase to the second floor. Over the garage there’s a big room—”

“I’ll find it.” She dashed down the hallway toward the mirrored entranceway, then hung a quick left through another set of double doors. Inside was a small carpeted area with a corkscrew staircase that wound tightly up to another level. She took the steps two at a time, in part out of pent-up fury, in part to escape her own stench.

The second landing was simply that. A landing. One window with beige miniblinds looked out over the side yard. A pair of beige upholstered chairs on either side of the window were there no doubt for people stuck cooling their heels, waiting to see Mr. Wonderful, cloistered in his hallowed computer room.

Jess didn’t intend to wait one single second for Lucas Brand. She burst through the door into a long, simply furnished, open room. The walls were white, with white window shades raised to allow the sun in. The pinewood floor gleamed in the spots where it could be seen between the piles and streamers of crumpled computer printouts that were strewn about. This startled her, for it was so uncharacteristic of Lucas.

A man sat at the far end of the room. Jess couldn’t be one-hundred-percent sure it was Lucas because his head was almost completely hidden by an oversize helmet of some sort with a protuberance at the front. A Donald Duck space helmet came to mind. Wires connected to the back of the headgear led to computer equipment that was beeping, flashing and purring in a semicircle about him.

For the first time, Jess had an inkling of the hightech world Lucas spent his time in. She was impressed by the intelligence it must require to be on the cutting edge of such advanced technology but disturbed by the foreign nature of what she saw. It seemed like a world more suited to alien beings than the warm, fuzzy sort of World she craved.

She peered curiously at him. He was groping around in empty air, his right hand encased in a silver glove that might have once belonged to Michael Jackson. Lucas was maneuvering the glove in the vacant space above his desktop. “Okay, baby, stay with me. Take me all the way—that’s good. No, no, hell—don’t stop. You damn tease.”

He grew silent, squeezed the gloved hand again, then sat back, saying, “Okay, that’s better. Now, let’s see if we can keep it hard if I torque around while I squeeze.”

Jess’s cheeks went hot. What had she blundered into? It sounded so—so lewd. What was he doing? She’d never heard of any sex toys that required a Donald Duck hood and a Michael Jackson glove. But Lucas seemed to be getting some sort of gratification out of the experience. She swallowed, not sure she wanted to know if Mr. Lucas Brand had a high-tech, perverted side to his personality. Then she thought of Miss Mary